What I Saw

invalid@example.com (Jokerman), Jokerman
Fri, 16 Jul 2010 06:41:00 +0000

Whatever stops is death, and is our death
So many journeys may the sun and moon
Make us again count o'er ere love be done!
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late,
So far from cheer and from your former state,
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:
For women's fear and love holds quantity;
In neither aught, or in extremity.